Leo’s growing familiarity with Earl’s Fabrics was beginning to pay off. At first, learning to locate the wares and working with the customers required much of Earl's precious time and energy. Leo needed guidance. But now he knew enough to be helpful when it came time to log the inventory at the end of his second week.

  "How many of the slim-fit leather gloves are left?" Earl asks. His voice is slightly raised to carry from the checkout counter, where he sits with the big logbook, to Leo, who's at the front of the store. The steady sound of rain on the roof makes communication more challenging.

  “One second.” Leo hollers. Taking a few steps over, he shuffles through the gloves.

  “Three of the brown leather, five of the black.” Leo feels the smooth leather gloves and organizes them into an aesthetically pleasing stack. At the same time, he waits for Earl to make his notes and provide further direction.

  It has only been three weeks since Leo arrived in the quaint town of Summerfall. Larger than his hometown but much smaller than the Capital. On arriving, he had been thrilled at the chance to prove himself and learn to fight with the other young academy attendees.

  Learning that his roommate was Ichor Narst had taken his excitement down a notch. He’d been prepared to live with a snotty noble and had managed to do it in the Capital with no real issues. But Ichor was a genuine cretin who seemed to take every opportunity to lift himself up and drag others down.

  When they had arrived at Earl’s on that fateful first day. Leo had been near a breaking point, trying to figure out how to distance himself from his new roommate without dealing with the young nobleman’s ire. As much as Leo had no interest in befriending Ichor, he knew that having him as an enemy would be worse than being his reluctant ‘friend.’

  Then Noelle approached them, quietly competent and far from groveling. She had found a way to maneuver the noble into spending his own money to humiliate himself. The whole time, Noelle never came across as conniving or manipulative. She'd been charming, and her acting was pretty good, but the moments she slipped up, Leo saw the edges of her true personality. The sparkling humor and life in her eyes.

  It didn't hurt that she was beautiful. There were many stunning women in the Academy; it had been a topic of conversation that both Ichor and Leo had been able to agree upon. But Noelle's beauty was a subtler thing. At first, she seemed quite plain, but the more she talked, smiled, and walked, the more Leo had been pulled in. He had so many questions about her. He wanted to know what made her smile.

  The Welcoming Formal event at the Academy had gone even more spectacularly than he could’ve anticipated. Leo thought he would be forced to attend with Ichor, but the haughty noble wanted to enter alone, fashionably late. He intended to make an impression. And he had.

  When Prince Bran spotted Ichor at the Formal, the Prince let out a surprised bark of laughter at the proud fools robes. He’d recovered quickly, suppressing the laugh, it having been born more of shock than malice. But the damage was done, and his laugh had caught like a flame in a dry field and soon the entire place was roaring. Ichor stood shocked. Standing still in the middle of the room, his pale face slowly turned red as he rushed out. The Prince tried to apologize, both hands raised placatingly, but the damage was done.

  For a few days, Ichor didn't leave their dorm room. He drank in excess and left puke in the sink and tub as he wallowed. Leo tried to comfort him, but Ichor would just turn his drunken ire onto his roommate, so Leo left him alone. A few days after the Formal, Ichor left the dorm to say goodbye to his family. When he returned, he seemed to be much recovered.

  When Leo asked about the change, Ichor said that the gossip wouldn't last long. Soon, there would be something else to talk about, and that would be the end of it. This seemed optimistic to Leo, but if it kept him from puking in their dorm room, then he was happy for it.

  There were still moments of malice from the young man, especially when he would talk about Earl's shop. He would mention the ‘idiot shopkeeper girl’ from time to time with venom in his tone, but he would calm down soon after. It was these moments of ire that made Leo revisit Earls Fabrics. He would warn them about Ichor, and maybe he could talk to Noelle again and see her long brown hair and easy smile.

  When he’d arrived and found her gone, he’d felt some conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he would miss her while she was away. On the other hand, Ichor wouldn't be able to get to her so quickly with her on her way to the Capital. He decided it was a good thing, thanked Earl for the update, and turned to go.

  He didn't expect Earl to stop and ask if he was looking for part-time work. He didn't need more funds, but the money certainly couldn't hurt. His mind latched onto the image of Noelle. He would be filling in for her. When she returned, her father would already know, and like Leo, that could only help his chances with her. So, he’d accepted and began working with Earl for a few hours each evening after his classes.

  “Alright, on to the scarves," Earl says, turning a page in the big book. “The black ones first.”

  Leo makes his way to the long wall of fabric. One end has darker scarves, tasteful and sleek. Then, further down, there is a stark change. On this end of the wall, all the scarves are brightly colored. Some are silk, others are cotton or wool. But all of them are unique and dyed to catch the eye with their jewel-tone colors.

  Suddenly, there is a knock at the door. Three raps ring out loudly despite the rain.

  “We’re closed!” Leo hollers, beginning to count the black scarves.

  As if in response to his announcement, the knocks ring out again. This time, they are harder, and a photo frame on the wall rattles at the force.

  Earl stands from his seat and walks to the door, opening it smoothly. In the darkness, it’s hard to make out the visitor; he is wearing armor, which is strange.

  "Hello?" Earl says. His tone of voice tells Leo he doesn't recognize the man either.

  “Hi. Are you Earl?” The stranger asks, his voice is weary.

  “Yes. Who are you?”

  “My name is Harrison. Can I come in?”

  Earl has an odd look on his face, a thoughtful one. He reaches out and wipes some of the mud from the man’s chest plate. Harrison doesn’t stop him or move at all, for that matter. Earl shakes the cold mud off his hand and squints at the emblem on the man’s breast. His face pales.

  He wobbles on his feet for a moment, then stands steadily. He breathes in and out audibly, then grabs Harrison by the collar of his armor and pulls him inside firmly, almost gently. Moving the man over to the right of the door, he doesn’t let go. He leans over and peers outside, seeing a horse tethered to the rail out in the rain. Then he shuts the door and turns his full attention onto the caravan guard.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “Where is she? Where is my daughter?” He says quietly, almost a whisper, nearly a growl.

  Leo’s feet splash in the mud as he runs along the empty road. The lights from the shops are enough to see by. He is looking for one shop in particular. When he arrives, he pounds on the door. He waits a minute, and then he pounds again. Then the door opens, and the proprietor stands there with an idly curious expression.

  “Leo?” She asks, wiping her hands on a brown stained rag between both hands.

  “Laney. Earl needs you. Now.”

  “What’s wrong?” Laney asks, reaching for her cloak already.

  "It's Noelle. A messenger arrived. She's gone missing on the road."

  “Oh no. No. That's not ..." she trails off. Then she turns and shouts into the shop. "I'm going out. We're done for tonight. Lock up and go home!" Her voice brooks no argument, and she doesn't wait for a response. She is already stepping out into the night.

  When the two arrive at Earls, a light shines from the slightly ajar front door. They step in with their muddy boots, and Leo bends down mechanically to remove them. Laney continues without hesitating, leaving a muddy trail as she walks towards the figure of a man resting his head in his arms on the counter.

  “Where’s Earl?” Laney asks.

  The man looks up and nods to the stairwell before returning his head to the counter.

  “Leo, take him to the Inn. Now. Tell them to send a boy for his horse too.” She tosses a gold coin in Leo's direction and starts up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  She can hear him now. A thump followed by a screeching sound repeats three times before she walks into his bedroom and sees him. He is on his hands and knees with a flat length of iron in his hands. He slams the prybar into a gap in the floorboards and presses hard, splintering the wood and breaking the board instead of lifting it.

  Laney hadn’t seen his room before; it fit him well. It is simple but homey, with furniture carved with intricate whirling designs. His bed is crisply made with clean sheets. The only decorations are two paintings on the far wall. One shows him and his wife standing together with soft smiles, her small hands clasped in his. Below it, another painting, this one of him and Noelle, shows him swinging her around in a circle as she laughs wildly.

  “Earl?” Laney asks, trying to keep her voice gentle.

  He doesn’t respond, repeating the prying action and breaking off another piece of the board. He puts down the prybar and puts his fingers into the ragged gap he's created, tearing the board out of the floor with his hands.

  “Earl.” She repeats louder. Moving closer.

  "Yeah, Laney? What's up?" His voice sounds calm. He almost sounds like his regular self. But there is a tension underneath it, something profound and frightening.

  "Leo brought me, " she says simply. In moments like this, there is often no 'right thing' to say. It's the being there that is valuable; it's in the listening.

  "He's a good kid," Earl says, picking up the prybar and moving on to the next board.

  “Yeah, he is. Earl, why are you tearing up the floor?”

  “My sword is down there.” He replies. “My armor, too."

  “Okay,” Laney says, “You need your sword now?”

  “Yeah.” He slams down on the prybar, and this board comes up entirely, not because he was being more gentle or deliberate. It must've just been a healthier piece of wood.

  “What did the guard tell you?” Laney asks.

  “Not much. Noelle disappeared in the night over a week ago. They were camping outside the Crucible." He replies.

  “She shouldn’t have been outside, they wouldn’t let her –”

  “She wasn’t. She was in the cart. Then, when they woke up, she wasn't. She was gone.”

  “That doesn’t make sense --”

  “The details don’t matter, Laney! She’s missing!!” His eyes touch hers; they're wide like a frightened horse. He's manic. Rage, shame, and guilt are warring within him, ripping him in different directions. “I'm going, " he says firmly. Laney takes a deep breath and nods.

  “Who’ll take care of the shop?” She asks quietly.

  “Shop doesn’t matter.” He rips up the final board and reaches into the space below, carefully removing a leather-wrapped bundle. He places it to the side, pulls out another larger bundle, and begins unwrapping them both.

  "I'm coming with you," Laney says.

  “No. You’re not.” He unwraps the long, narrow bundle and reveals his great sword. The blade is still wrapped in linen. He sets it down.

  “I am. You’re not doing this alone.” Laney insists.

  “I’m leaving now.” He replies.

  “It’s dark out, it’ll be dark for hours. Wait until morning. We can spend the night preparing our gear and --”

  “One hour” he interrupts her. Earl unwraps the armor and begins stripping his clothes off until he is down to his linen underwear. His deep chest and thick legs are covered in an even layer of coarse brown hair. He walks over to the wardrobe and pulls out a clean shirt and pants.

  “Earl, let’s do this right. Let me get Godfrey, he can come with us –”

  “Thank you, Laney,” he doesn’t turn around, pulling up his pants quickly and pulling the shirt over his broad shoulders. “But I am leaving in one hour. If you want to come, I can't stop you. I’m buying a horse and leaving through the south gate.” He shrugs on his chainmail hauberk and begins fastening on his outer armor. He pulls the worn straps by memory as though it hadn’t been 15 years since he last donned the heavy plate.

  “Fuck, Earl. Okay, don’t leave without me. And get me a horse, too!” She spins and runs out the door.

  “One hour, Laney.” He says quietly, his eyes naturally drifting south like he can see through the wall. He envisions the miles and miles of untamed forest lying between himself and his only remaining family. “I’m coming, Noelle.”

  The wind tastes fresh, like young pine trees and morning dew. It pushes gently but insistently against my hair, sending it back over my ear and shoulder. The sky brightens slowly as the sun begins to show its face, only a red sliver on the horizon.

  It's been a day since the Keeper gave me my rewards and explained the coming challenge. The ease of learning to use the spear was a welcome surprise; the length of wood now feels natural in my hands. Unsurprisingly, the egg hasn't hatched. It rests by the warm coals of my fire.

  The first cries of the coming wave reach me before I see them. I spin my spear, using both hands to carry it in a continuous rotation like the blades of a windmill. My eyes and thoughts are on the weapon, readying myself for the coming tides.

  When my arms are warm, and the shrieks have grown in volume, I stop rotating the weapon and snap it down to my side. Eight Imps are clambering up the hill. I breathe deeply, focused on calming my heart and mind.

  Imp – Level 4

  Imp – Level 3

  Imp – Level 3

  Imp – Level 3

  Imp – Level 3

  Imp – Level 3

  Imp – Level 2

  Imp – Level 2

  Two Imps are at level two, five are at level three, and one is at level four. As they approach, it becomes clear that the higher-level Imps are faster than their lower-level compatriots. The level four Imp is at the front, dozens of paces ahead of the others.

  I smile as the imps begin to funnel closer together, the environment forcing the creatures to bunch together. Tlack is a game that I've been playing for as long as I can remember. The first step of this game is placing your pieces and setting up the battlefield. After all the pieces are placed, they begin to move, shift, and engage the enemy forces.

  My father has always been better than me at the placement stage. But I've learned a few things from him, and even more, since I began fighting for my life on this hillside. One of the first things I noticed when my landscape changed from brown dead earth to a grassy green hill was that the geological landform was altered as well.

  Instead of a hill, I stand on a plateau. There is a sloping hill on one side of the tree but a steep drop on the other. Now, I only need to worry about enemies coming from one direction. Over the last 24 hours, I'd elevated that advantage.

  Through the careful placement of large stones, I'd created a battlefield that encouraged the enemy to take a single path. My father taught me the importance of strategy. Warfare is about control, deception, and isolation. It’s about predicting angles, understanding the terrain, and identifying weaknesses.

  A motivated Imp could take a less traveled path but should be slowed significantly. This allows me to focus my entire attention on the battle right in front of me. I no longer need to worry about an enemy sneaking past me and reaching the tree from a different angle.

  I’ve always preferred the second stage of Tlack, the battle stage. Here, even if the odds are against you, with clever tactics and constant pressure, you can turn the tables and come out on top.

  The battle stage is arriving now, and the first slobbering face approaches.

  I Dash forward to meet it with the point of my spear.